


Sharing, Caring

by Askellie



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Begging, Bondage, Broken Bones, Collars, Exhibitionism, M/M, Mind Games, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:33:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askellie/pseuds/Askellie
Summary: Dream and Nightmare are reunited in their mutual corruption. If they can learn to get along, surely Cross and Killer can do the same.(Cross would give anything not to be here. Killer is just out to enjoy himself as much as an empty, emotionless husk possibly can.)
Relationships: Dark Cream, KillerCreamMare, Kross - Relationship, Nightmare / Killer, Sans/Sans (Undertale), Shattered!Dream/Cross, killer/cross
Comments: 10
Kudos: 181





	Sharing, Caring

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter enabled me into writing surprise midnight porn. I have no excuses.
> 
> Shattered!Dream is based strongly on the comic by [Zu](https://zu-is-here.tumblr.com/).

“Wow,” Killer says, his empty grin stretching wide enough that it actually aches a little at the corners. “You know, if I still had feelings, I bet I’d be pretty terrified right now.”

“Shut up,” Cross growls at him, his posture stiff and wound as a coiled spring. Every line of his body is hunched, defensive and on edge. It’s absolutely hilarious watching him trying not to sweat even though everyone in the room is starkly aware of how uncomfortable he is. Killer can’t feed off it the way Dream and Nightmare are, but he’s enjoying himself all the same.

His deranged grin makes Cross’s scowl deepen, the length of chain between their collars clicking as he tries to shuffle back another fraction of an inch. He’s tried to distance himself from Killer as much as he can, but the inflexibility of their conjoined tether means they can’t separate any further than a friendly stranglehold would allow. Killer’s fingers are itching with the urge to wrap around Cross’s delicate cervicals. If there’s even the slightest give in Cross’s uptight posture he might just try it.

It’s a reckless and possible suicidal impulse. Cross belongs to Dream. The newly corrupted Guardian sits at the table, sharing a bottle of wine with his brother, smiling and laughing like it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Every so often his gaze will drift to the corner that Cross has futility tried to put his back against, and that’s when Killer catches a glimpse of the swirling madness behind his beatific grin. 

Nightmare’s dangerous moods are a known quality. Dream’s unexpectedly whimsical and erratic temperament is not. The collars were his idea, and the mortified resignation on Cross’s face when Dream had grandly declared that pets belonged on a leash awaiting their Master’s orders gave Killer a fair idea of why he’d done it. 

He still isn’t entirely sure why Nightmare agreed so easily. The collar isn’t a necessary reminder. Killer knows exactly what his place is without the need for tangible demonstrations. He doesn’t share Cross’s embarrassment at the indignity, but frankly he’s getting bored. Patience isn’t his dominant trait any more, and if the twins are going to ignore him like he’s a child too young to contribute when the grown-ups are talking, he’ll just have to make his own fun.

“So what do you think?” he asks Cross without bothering to lower his voice. No point in pretending he doesn’t want to be heard. “Once they’re finished with the appetiser of your bad mood, what’s the main course? Usually Nightmare starts with my ribs. A couple of broken bones gets me nice and warmed up before he fucks me.”

“Stop. Talking,” Cross grits out, unable to hide the horrified shudder that runs through him. He’s always been soft, even back when he worked for Nightmare himself.

“Is Dream into that kind of thing?” Killer muses aloud. “Hurting you, I mean. I’m pretty sure he’s into fucking you. Is he rough or gentle? Whichever it is, I bet he likes to see you cry after.”

Cross looks deliberately away, but not quickly enough to hide the grimace of anguish that tells Killer he’s right. Interesting. Dream used to sustain himself on positive feelings the way Nightmare does on negativity. Now that he’s corrupted, Killer knows he’s chasing something different but he hasn’t wholly figured it out. He’s terribly curious.

“Hey,” Killer leers, leaning forwards until he’s blatantly invading the space Cross tried to put between them. “Does he make you wear the collar in bed too? I bet you enjoy that. You’ve always been real good at following ord-”

The punch that strikes his face isn’t unexpected. Killer doesn’t even bother to dodge, a delighted peal of laughter escaping him as the force of the blow sends him reeling further than the leash will let him. Cross is jerked forward with a pained grunt. Killer promptly grabs the chain and pulls it even harder, dragging Cross on top of him.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, pulling Cross’s face down towards his own. He wants to lick at those parted teeth, to watch Cross’s mis-matched eyelights grow even wider with shock. He settles instead for wrapping his legs around the other skeleton’s, tangling them together. “Bet it felt nice when someone actually wanted you enough to keep you, but you know…”

He lifts his skull from the floor to murmur against the curve of Cross’s cheek, “He wouldn’t have brought you here if he didn’t want to share you.”

The rage burns furiously in Cross’s sockets, bright and gratifying. Killer sees the moment he realises how thoroughly Killer is wrapped around him, their bodies flush together, a farce of intimacy. Immediately he starts struggling, spitting and swearing and lashing out, though he’s too close to get as much strength behind his blows as he did with that first punch. Killer catches his wrists easily, squeezing hard enough to make the bones creak. Cross is slightly larger than he is, his bones strong and sturdy and his reflexes honed by training, but he doesn’t have the same LV as Killer. He might put up a good fight, but in a battle without strategy, there’s no way he can win.

Unfortunately, just as Cross seems to be coming to that sweet realisation, Killer feels the familiar squeeze of Nightmare’s coils winding around him, firmly plucking him away from Cross. He gives a disappointed sigh, going reflexively slack against the other’s grip. “Aww, always ruining my fun, boss.”

“And here I thought I’d taught you to play nice with others,” Nightmare says, his voice mild and amused. His breath smells like wine, and Killer takes a chance on his good mood to steal a kiss that tastes like sour plums and autumn apples. Nightmare indulges him for a moment, laying a thorough claim to Killer’s mouth before biting down reprovingly on his tongue for daring to return the favour. “Do I need to remind you of your manners?”

“You could,” Killer offers, spreading his femurs obligingly for the slippery limb that’s curling up his leg and into his shorts. Killer’s pelvis isn’t sturdy enough to withstand the thicker base of the tentacle if Nightmare pushes too far into him as he typically does, but in lieu of the feelings Killer no longer has, the pain will be an almost satisfying replacement. 

Cross has been similarly ensnared, but unlike Killer, he looks completely dismayed. He squirms against Dream’s hold, flinching violently as they start to creep beneath his clothes.

“Dream, please,” he begs, his voice soft, pleading. “Not like this, not with them here, please, ah-!”

“What’s wrong?” Dream asks, the smile on his face so gentle that if not for the sludge oozing over his bones he’d look like his former self. “Usually you’re begging for me to touch you. Are you mad at me for ignoring you?”

“No,” Cross chokes out, gasping as one of Dream’s tentacles writhes sinuously across his sternum. Killer can see it undulating under Cross’s shirt, dampening the fabric with its slickness. “No, but Dream-!”

“Don’t worry,” Dream soothes him. “It doesn’t matter who I give your body to. You’ll always belong to me.”

The shattering of Cross’s expression is fascinating to watch. Killer stares with unabashed interest as the resistance drains from Cross’s cross, his composure crumbling as he allows Dream to drag him down into a kiss that might have seemed tender if not for the trickles of purple leaking from his sockets. 

“I’m surprised you’ve trained him so well in such a short amount of time,” Nightmare says. With a firm grip on the back of the collar, he forces Killer to bend, contorting his body into a more pliant, uncomfortable position. “Killer was much more difficult to tame.”

He sounds proud of that fact, and Killer beams inanely at the praise.

“Perhaps you’d like a demonstration of my methods?” Dream offers. In one sharp movement, his tentacles rip through Cross’s clothing, heedless of the weak cry of protest his victim makes. “I might be able to give you a few new ideas.”

There’s a dull throb in Killer’s chest where some atrophied emotion tries to make itself known. He doesn’t remember what dread or horror feel like, but for a moment he feels a dim echo that almost makes him sympathise with the twisted anguish on Cross’s face.

  
  



End file.
